The Hero

Bordering the local football ground, young mountain ash bend in the cold wind. Almost reaching to full height, their lean, pliable trunks bow and spring back, whipping against the air. Defiant, almost arrogant they dance and swirl their leaves like balls of streamers waved by frenzied fans. Boyhood comes charging back as I walk the boundary, booted up and wearing number twenty five. I inhabited the hero, rode wild applause to the consummate ease of my play and saw my name bannered in large print across Sunday replays. Imagination flew far above my skill and as time chastened dreams, ambition retreated to a place in a noisy crowd carried along on the swells of boisterous cheer, or lounged in a chair watching an ad riddled game at home by myself with a beer.